


A Death in Birmingham

by Pastachos



Series: A Death in Birmingham [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Detective, M/M, Multi, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastachos/pseuds/Pastachos
Summary: Paul watched John walk across the flat and pick up a rather thick folder.“Some professor teacher lady died or somethin’ I dunno. Here,” He threw the file into Paul’s chair. “I’ve looked through it, not much to go off.”John looked to the wall. “Hm. We should just go there. C'mon, walk n’ talk.” He grabbed the case file from the chair and walked out the door.“Hey you can’t just-“ Paul groaned and moved the dirty plate to the sink. “Wait for me!”
Relationships: McLennon - Relationship, starrison(kinda)
Series: A Death in Birmingham [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769563
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	A Death in Birmingham

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the first time I’ve written fanfiction, so I hope everything lines up and makes sense. 
> 
> Warnings: swearing, mentions of murder and suicide uhh that’s it for this one I believe.

“God dammit”

Paul looked at the clock. 7:23 am. He should have left twenty minutes ago. Damn that party. He just had to have one more drink, had to keep talking to that professor- god what even was his name? It didn’t matter. 

Throwing his things into a bag and shoving his feet into the black Chelsea boots, which were notably not in their normal place, Paul gave himself one last quick look in the mirror. Only now did he realize he messed up the buttons on his shirt, and it was rather bunchy where the shirt was stuffed into his pants. Though, he did have to give himself credit for matching the color of his tie and socks. He probably forgot something. He knew he did. 

It didn’t matter, nothing did. He had to be somewhere and he was already very, very late.

Paul threw open his door and slammed it close immediately. He ran as fast as he could down the stairs. Since when was there so many steps? Why was the door so heavy? 

He ran as fast as he could down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding people. A lady, the one who ran the bakery down the street Paul remembered, was standing in the middle of everyone with a large cart of baked goodies.

“Oh Paul! Would you like to tr-“

He made a hard right to avoid the woman. “I’m sorry I can't right now!” Paul made his usual route his friend’s home. One block over, a right, and there it was!

By the time he’d gotten himself into John’s flat he was bent over with his hands on his legs, heaving air into his burning lungs. It was like any other time you ran like your life depended on it. His legs and throat burned and all he wanted was for it to go away.

“You’re on time,” 

What? No I’m not. I’m twenty seven mi-

“I knew you’d be twenty seven minutes past when I asked you here, so I asked you early.” 

Paul looked up at John across the room. “What?”

“You went to a party last night, or did you forget hm? Came home rather late, no proper dinner, and by the looks of it haven’t showered.”

“No that’s- not what I meant.” John’s face twisted with confusion. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s quite obvious isn’t it?” 

Paul shook his head and screwed his face.“No, it really isn’t,”

John had a large cleaver half way into a what would have been a perfectly looking New York style cheesecake, if it hadn’t been for some- red paste on the top?

“What’s on it?” 

“Oh! I’ve come to a conclusion! Come come,” John waved Paul over with his hand. “Everyone likes cheesecake yes? Well, I’ve always found it rather boring, especially this “New York” variation.” What is he going on about?

“You see, this on the top here is hot sauce!” 

“HOT SAUCE??”

“Yes! The sweet and spicy flavors contrast each other perfectly!” 

Paul groaned. Why, why is it always something like this with you. “Okay sure sure, but, why are you using a massive knife?” 

John looked at Paul, then down at the cake.

“Dunno.” 

Why were they still talking about cake? Paul’s body had stopped burning, which meant he’d been there long enough to not be talking about this blasted hot sauce cheesecake still. “Okay okay. It doesn’t matter. We’re supposed to be getting a case today right?”

“Yeah,” John took a slice of the cake, a rather large one, and sat down in the living room. He gestured his plate to Paul. “Want some?” 

“No thanks. But- did we? Did we get a case? John we really need one. It’s been three weeks. And you need to pay rent y'know! You’re not exempt from that!” Paul looked to a pile of mail that had greatly grown since his last visit. 

John looked up from his cake while still taking in a bite. “It’s been three weeks and two point seven five days, actually.” He set down his plate. “I see your concern though.”

Paul watched John walk across the flat and pick up a rather thick folder. 

“Some professor teacher lady died or somethin’ I dunno. Here,” He threw the file into Paul’s chair. “I’ve looked through it, not much to go off.”

John looked to the wall. “Hm. We should just go there. C'mon, walk n’ talk.” He grabbed the case file from the chair and walked out the door.

“Hey you can’t just-“ Paul groaned and moved the dirty plate to the sink. “Wait for me!”

******

“So,” Paul looked over to John. “Margaret O’Neil, thirty two, professor at Birmingham University. Wait- why isn’t the little type of crime box thingy filled out?”

“When the captain dropped it off he said they can’t tell what happened. Buncha mixed accounts and what not. The evidence doesn’t match up with what people are saying apparently.” They rounded a corner. 

“Hm.” Paul looked through the rest of the file. She was found in her office at eight in the morning when the professor from the next room over came to visit. 

“What about this Starkey guy, the other teacher that found her? Have they questioned him?” 

“No I told 'em’ not to. Would’a been a waste of time.” John stopped at a crosswalk. He squinted while looking out at the people making their daily rounds. Not that it helped him see better, but he liked to think it did.

“You don’t think he did anything? Wasn’t involved one bit? He was the first one to see the body y’know.”

“Nah ‘course not. Do you even know that guy?” 

“Well no, why would I kn-“

“CAB!” Paul shook from the sudden shout. A car pulled up and the two got in. “Manchester Uni.”

John looked to Paul. “He’s a real sweet guy! Always talkin’ about how we coulda’ avoided wars n’ what not. Never takes sides, settles stuff between kids apparently.”

Paul felt a twinge of jealousy. 

I wanna be called a sweet guy. Why does this random teacher get to be called that? John’s my best friend. Paul groaned. No- he’s just trying to get his point across about this guy. It doesn’t matter! We have a case to solve!

After a short while the two arrived at The University of Birmingham. It’s red bricks and massive windows gleamed in the morning sun. 

“Thanks” John said to the cab driver, handing him a wad of cash.

Paul left the car. That’s just like him aye? Won’t even organize his wallet.

The university had just let it’s students out for a short spring break, so they didn’t have to worry about frantic people. John and Paul walked over to where the police had all their set-up. There were a few vans and various cars, as well as what looked to be a small gathering of people working for the Scotland Yard. 

John quickened his pace. What’s he so excited about? At this distance they could hear the group talking. It sounded like any other group meeting. Going over details and what not. 

The group parted to reveal a rather tall, thin man giving orders. John perked up. “Harrison? S’at you?” He turned around. 

“Woah hey look who’s on time!” Paul examined him. He was holding a little binder with bags and paper poking out. The man was rather attractive, Paul concluded. Not really my type though.

“Yeah i’m not really a fan of being late.” The man let out a small laugh. “Meet my friend and work partner, Paul McCartney.” John laid a hand on Paul’s shoulder, bringing him a bit closer. 

The two began chatting about who knows what. Paul wasn’t exactly listening, only tidbits. Something about pastries? Blood? He looked up at the building. At least I’m not in some dirty alleyway. Yet.

Paul had seen the university before, who hadn’t? But he’d never been on sight before. It really was quite beautiful. The building was made up of red bricks, and in the shape of a semicircle. It resembled a backwards D from above, he remembered from photos. Each large entrance section was topped with a large dome, and all consisted of many tall windows. They were stationed in the courtyard and spring had just gotten into the swing of things which of course meant that another prominent color wa-

“Paul? You alright lad? We’ve got to go to that professor’s office now.” John shook his friend lightly, never having moved his hand. 

“O-oh alright. Let’s go then.”

John, Paul, and from the little conversation he’d processed, George, took off to the science wing.

“You weren’t listening.” John broke the silence that had set in. “It doesn’t matter really, we were mostly catchin’ up. Geo did tell me they’re all leaning more towards a suicide.”

I bet that Harrison thinks he’s better than me hm? Just ‘cuz you get a nickname? Wrong! Paul thought to the two nicknames John often referred to him as (among others of course). Yeah mhm that’s right. He calls me Macca AND Paulie! You only get one na-

“Paul! Aye! Listen please.”

“Sorry! Just uh- been thinking bout’ the uhm. Er-“ he went silent.

John mide a side glance at Paul with a (rightfully) concerned face. 

“So Margaret O’Neil yeah? She’s always been kinda bitchy in my books but she taught well apparently. Greatly regarded, bunch kids like her, staff too.” The group walked up the steps into the building.

George turned his head halfway back while still walking. “Everyone said she was even snarkier than usual.” He slowed his pace, O’Niel’s office clearly coming up. “Ringo said she was drinking brandy all day and told him, and I quote, “what does it matter I’m not living for tomorrow anyways.” 

Paul felt his eyebrows knit and his lip curl, looking over at John he did the same. Though the two’s expressions were for different reasons. Ringo… where have I heard that name before?

“Whelp, here we are.” George unlocked the door and walked in, John and Paul following.

It was a rather nice office Paul had to say. It had a nice window at the end of the room, with a large wood desk in front of it. There were filing cabinets and bookshelves around the room. It wasn’t the largest office he’d seen, that’s for sure, but she had managed to fill up the whole space with pictures and nicknacks. 

I thought she might have teaching manuals but I guess not. He read titles from the shelf. Frankenstein, The Chronicles of Narnia, various Tolkien books. The Lord of the Flies? Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea? The Time Machine? She must have been at least a little interesting. 

“Hm.” Paul tore his eyes away from a copy of The Hobbit on a shelf to his left. 

John was bent over a large splotch of what Paul could only assume to be blood on the floor. It trailed from the center of the desk’s top and down to where he was looking. He stood up swiftly and strided to the other edge of the carpet and bent down once again.

His face skewed and his hand extended to poke the rug twice. John stood up once more and led himself to a trash bin. George and Paul were watching him intently. 

After a bit of rummaging, John pulled an empty cup of vanilla pudding. He brought it to his nose and took a deep breath into his nose. 

The bin shook with a loud thumb as the pudding cup was thrown back to where it came from. The man whose face was formerly half in the rubbish bin stood up and cleared his throat. 

“Eh-ehm” John looked back and forth between the other two men. “I don’t know how the hell ye didn’t see it, but she was murdered.”


End file.
